


misplaced serenade

by littlervoice



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-08
Updated: 2015-08-08
Packaged: 2018-04-13 15:41:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4527798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlervoice/pseuds/littlervoice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>I’m standing outside your house singing a song to get you back but “Oops, wrong house, sorry.”</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	misplaced serenade

**Author's Note:**

> this is the first fic i've managed to finish in such a long time  
> soz if it's rubbish.

Harry’s seen the films. He knows what to do. He knows how to be romantic, he knows how to win back the girl - or in this case, guy.

He has a plan.

He texts Zayn for his address during the day, frowning a little when he realises Zayn had never invited him over there; it was always Harry’s place they went, along with a message that hints he might be coming over later tonight. Zayn’s reply isn’t instant, but it’s quick for him, and Harry can’t help but smile at the address on his phone when it arrives.

Then when evening finally rolls around he grabs his phone and his portable speakers, shoves them into a bag along with a change of clothes, and then, after a quick stiff drink for courage, hops into the taxi that’s waiting for him outside.

Zayn lives all the way across town. The taxi fare empties his wallet and Harry wishes he’d consulted google maps before making the journey. He’s never been this side of town before, he has no clue where he is.

Thankfully the taxi seems to have dropped him off right on Zayn’s door step. Number forty-nine. He checks and then double checks his phone, and then once satisfied heads up the driveway.

He bypasses the front door and goes straight to the back of the house, relieved that the side gate isn’t locked. Climbing isn’t his forte, as romantic as it might be, and knowing his luck, the neighbours would probably call the cops on him thinking he’s a burglar or something.

After getting his sweater caught on a rose bush and spending the next few minutes trying to free himself without slicing his fingers open, Harry finally makes it round the corner, grumbling about how Zayn needs to change the light bulb in his outdoor light as he comes to a stop under what he presumes is Zayn’s bedroom window.

Whichever room it is, it’s the only one with the window open, so it’ll have to do. He crouches down and gets his speakers out the bag, plugs them into his phone and searches for the right song, briefly wondering how it got to be 10pm already.

He hits play and cranks the volume up, a speaker in each hand as his raises them above his head and starts singing along, top of his voice.

The song finishes and there’s no sign of Zayn, so Harry fumbles around with his phone to get it to replay and then wonders if he should go round to the front.

He decides to give it another shot round the back first. Maybe Zayn was in the shower or on the toilet.

About halfway through the second song, the window opens wider and a head pops out.

“What in the bloody fuck is goin’ on out ‘ere?”

It’s not Zayn. Whoever it is doesn’t look anything remarkably close to Zayn. It’s a man, but that’s about as far as the similarities go.

“Who are you?” Harry calls out over his music.

“Who are _you_?” The guy echoes.

“I’m–– I’m here–”

“For god’s sake, turn your music down and quit yellin’ would ya? People tryin’ to sleep round 'ere.”

The man sounds kinda angry, so Harry rushes to switch his music off, almost dropping his phone twice in his haste to do so. Then he looks back up and says, “I’m here for Zayn?”

“What did I _just_ say about yelling?” The guy says, and Harry can see him shaking his head. He makes to apologise but he’s interrupted once again. “Hang on a minute, I’ll come down. Come to the front.”

He slams the window shut so Harry can’t argue even if he wanted to. Harry grabs his bag and makes his way back to the front of the house, remembering to give the rose bush a wide berth.

The front door is open when he gets there, and Not-Zayn is propped against it. The hall light is bright behind him and Harry can only really see his silhouette. “Well?” He prompts. “Why do I have a complete stranger singin’ eighties music in me back garden?”

“I thought Zayn lived here?” It begins to dawn on Harry that he might have gotten the wrong house. But the number on the door says… “Forty-nine,” he frowns and gets his phone out to check Zayn’s message again.

“This is number forty-nine, but there aren’t any Zayns here,” the man shrugs. “My name’s Niall. I’m the only one who lives here, sorry.”

“And there are no Zayns anywhere else on the street?” Harry asks. He has to check. Maybe Zayn made a typo.

Yeah, that’s probably it. Zayn, in his rush to type out his answer, pressed the wrong number and Niall will tell him that he lives next door, or the house opposite, and Harry will go over there and knock on the door and he and Zayn will spend the night on the sofa laughing at his misplaced serenade.

“No, sorry man. Name doesn’t ring a bell,” Niall says.

“Oh,” Harry answers lamely. He doesn’t know what to do now. He doesn’t want to believe that Zayn purposely gave him the wrong address, but it’s becoming more and more apparent that’s what’s happened.

He feels the stinging threat of tears and he presses his thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose in a bid to keep his composure.

It doesn’t work, though; Harry was never one to suppress his emotions, and he ends up making a weird noise that’s some sort of a cross between a sob, a laugh and a sniffle. He feels pathetic, and he probably looks it too, stood there halfway to crying on Niall’s doorstep with his speakers in hand.

Niall must think so too because he steps out the house and puts a comforting hand on Harry’s forearm.

“Look, it’s okay, don’t cry,” he soothes and Harry only wants to cry harder at how nice Niall is being. “Do you want to come in for a bit?” He asks, gesturing through the front door. “Maybe have a drink, calm down a bit?”

Harry glances over at Niall who has an earnest smile on his face. “Okay,” he whispers. He doesn’t trust his voice not to shake if he speaks properly.

Niall guides him through the hall way, protesting Harry’s attempt to take his shoes off by the door, and into the living room.

“I’ll just go stick the kettle on,” Niall says, still smiling brightly. “Make yourself at home.”

The TV’s on in the far corner of Niall’s living room, playing an episode of _Million Pound Drop_. Harry watches for a few seconds and then drags his thumb under each eye, wiping away the tears that had managed to spill over in a bid to make himself look a bit more put-together for when Niall gets back.

“Figured you be a tea man,” Niall says as he walks back into the room with a tray in his hands, balancing two steaming mugs and a plate of chocolate biscuits.

“Thanks,” Harry murmurs when Niall slides one of the mugs over the coffee table to him. He takes a quick sip. It feels good going down.

“Wasn’t sure what kinda biscuit guy you were though,” Niall continues, “so I brought a selection. Help yourself.”

He’s still got that smile on his face and it makes Harry want to cry again. Why is Niall being so nice to him?

He stutters out the question a couple of minutes later, distracting Niall’s attention away from the TV.

“I mean I broke into your back garden and sang a stupid song and you invited me in to your house. I could be a murderer, I could be here to kill you!”

“Bit of a funny way to go about it, don’t ya think?” Niall laughs. “And something about those tears in your eyes tells me you’re not the murderin’ type.”

“No,” Harry agrees.

“You were upset,” Niall says, serious now. “Couldn’t just slam the door – well, window – in your face and tell you to piss off.”

“Thank you,” Harry says, earning himself yet another smile.

“And I like to think I’m just a decent person in general. Didn’t want to ruin my reputation by bein’ an arsehole to ya.” Niall finishes the sentence with a wink. If it were anyone else Harry would roll his eyes. But the gesture looks sort of…good on Niall.

“You can tell me what happened if you want,” Niall offers. He grabs a biscuit of the plate and shoves the whole thing in his mouth at once. “Only if you want to though,” he reaffirms, spraying crumbs everywhere.

“It was supposed to be like that movie, Say Anything.”

“Oh yeah, I’ve seen the one,” Niall says, eyes lighting up in recognition. “You tryin’ to get someone back?”

“My kind-of-ex-but-he-probably-wouldn’t-call-us-that, Zayn,” Harry nods, takes another sip of his drink. “Well I thought so. But apparently Zayn doesn’t want that at all. Made that pretty clear by giving me the wrong address on purpose,” he adds bitterly.

“That’s shit,” Niall frowns. “If he doesn’t like you why didn’t he just tell you? Save you the trip, at least.”

“Because he’s an idiot?” Harry suggests. “Beats me. All I know is now I don’t have enough money for a taxi home. Not even a bus.” He doesn’t mean for it to come out all desperate and suggestive as it does. But it does. And Niall picks up on his tone.

“Don’t worry about that– sorry, what was your name?”

“Harry.”

“Right. Don’t worry about taxi money, Harry. I can pay for it, it’s fine.” Niall goes to pull his wallet out of his trouser pocket.

“I live on the other side of town, I can’t let you do that,” Harry argues. “Really, you’ve already been too good to me.”

“Well at least let me give you enough for the bus,” Niall says. He slides a fiver out of his wallet (which is probably far more than necessary) and hands it over to Harry.

“Even if I took that, which I won’t, I don’t think buses run this late,” Harry protests. “Least not to my place.”

“I–”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be fine,” Harry says. He’s not sure who’s least convinced – himself or Niall.

“I can give my mate Liam a call and see if he’ll give you a lift home? He has his own car, he probably wouldn’t mind.”

“Niall, stop it’s fine. No need to drag anyone else into this. I’ll just walk. I’m okay,” Harry says. He stands up and checks his phone. He still has 64% battery. It should last long enough for him to use google maps to navigate his way home.

He downs the last of his tea and puts his cup on the table. Then he makes his way to the front door, Niall trailing behind him. Once out the door he turns around to say thanks to Niall, who’s stood flicking the door lock open and closed again.

“There is one more option,” Niall suggests hesitantly, “I don’t know if you’d be cool with it. But I am.”

Harry looks at Niall expectantly. He wonders if he’s gonna produce a bike from the shed and tell him to ride it home.

“You could, uh. Stay over?” Niall says. “In the spare room, I mean. Not with me,” he clarifies quickly. “Then you could get the bus in the morning?”

Harry considers Niall’s offer. It wouldn’t be so bad. He already has his overnight things with him in his bag so he won’t have to borrow any of Niall’s things. And it would save him one hell of a walk home. It’s not like there’s anyone there waiting for him to get back.

“And I won’t have to worry about you bein’ murdered on your way home in the dark,” Niall continues.

Any fight Harry had left in him vanishes after that. He doesn’t want Niall to feel…responsible for him like that.

“Okay,” he agrees. “But I’ll make breakfast tomorrow to repay you. Or try to.”

“Great,” Niall exclaims, grabbing Harry’s wrist and pulling him back into the house. “Be nice to have someone use the guest bedroom for once.”

\-----

Harry keeps his word and makes breakfast in the morning. Full English, which has Niall moaning and making other obscene noises as he eats.

“Would’ve worked for me, you know,” Niall says once he’s finished.

“Hmm?”

“Your romantic gesture,” Niall smiles. “If it was me you were after, I’d have taken you back.” Under the table Niall knocks his knee into Harry’s.

Harry swallows his mouthful of toast and nudges Niall back.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

**Author's Note:**

> littlervoice.tumblr.com


End file.
